There are chicken hides on every surface of this cavern, which is hot and stinky because I’m also melting down some sand, and to be honest I’d rather be sleeping outside underneath the stars, but I’m kind of fond of my own skin.
There’s still one lone murderer, the one I spared the last time I saw them, wandering around in the mountains to the south. I see him occasionally when I go out to gather firewood. He doesn’t appear to want anything to do with me now… probably because I killed his five associates.
(That would turn me off too.)
I’d offer a hand of friendship but they did try to murder me first, so I’m not much inclined to.
It’s a little easier to understand how people have gone to war so many times over the millennia when some stranger is trying to shoot you with a crossbow and you don’t even know why.